


The Only Cure

by Wicked42



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Like, Sickfic, Whump, lots of blood, magical virus, manipulation abound
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 10:55:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20241700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wicked42/pseuds/Wicked42
Summary: “Catra!”She skidded to her side, gripped her friend’s shoulders hard enough to bruise. The slick grass was cold under her knees, blood seeping spots of red into her beige pants. Around them, the Woods were eerily silent.Catra still wasn’t moving.If this was a Horde trap, it was horrifically convincing.------------------When Shadow Weaver infects Catra with a magical virus as collateral to lure Adora back to the Fright Zone. It doesn't go well.WHUMP WHUMP WHUMP!-Set sometime in season 2, not sure when. XD -





	1. Betrayal Runs Deep

**Author's Note:**

> <strike> Again, not a real fic. I'm currently writing like, six other things, so I don't really have the time for a new fic. </strike>
> 
> <strike>BUT... and I say this loosely, I *have* been known to finish fics I never planned to, with the right encouragement. XD </strike>
> 
> OH LOOK IT WORKED

_Some are destined for greatness. _

_And some are not. _

Catra coughed, bracing herself against a gnarled tree. Blood spattered the flowers at her feet. Her nails curled into the old bark, scarring the surface as she stared at those flowers. Her vision swam, but even doubled, she could tell they were beautiful. Bright blue, like Adora’s eyes, strong and resilient like her spirit.

Catra’s blood stained them copper, and she couldn’t muster the strength to care.

She would stain everything in blood eventually.

“You’re a fool,” she whispered, just in case Shadow Weaver’s ghouls lurked in the dark. But even her taunt came out rasping, weak.

Weak.

Catra growled, spitting blood. She was many things, but _weak _wasn’t one of them. She forced herself to stand upright, forced herself to take another wobbling step. Her foot crushed the blue flowers, and she ground her heel before stalking onward, towards her destination.

Towards Bright Moon.

Shadow Weaver wanted bait?

Fine.

Catra would be bait. But once she returned to the Fright Zone, she would sink her claws into Shadow Weaver’s heart, once and for all.


	2. Perils of the Whispering Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding Bright Moon has never been easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OHAI I'M BACK. 
> 
> Honestly, I was blown away by the reviews and kudos I got for 193 measly words. You guys seriously know how to welcome a girl into a new fandom, don't you? :3 
> 
> SO YES HELLO I will finish this for you lovely people! Any feedback you have to spare for me along the way is always greatly appreciated! <3 
> 
> Let the whump commence. >:)
> 
> \----------
> 
> PLEASE NOTE THE CHANGED TIMELINE. It's now set sometime in season 2, after she locks up Shadow Weaver and Entrapta joins the cause. :P

“Another _failure_,” Hordak spat.

Catra stiffened, her tail going rigid under his ire. He was right; Adora had intervened, She-Ra had decimated their troops, and Catra came home empty handed. No First Ones’ tech. No advances in territory. Just a lot of destroyed bots and dead soldiers.

A failure by any right, but _Catra _had been the only one bold enough to try. Not that it counted for anything in Hordak’s eyes.

Not that much did.

Hordak approached with slow, measured footsteps. His eyes were ice, glinting in fury. “You lost Entrapta’s newest bot to a tactical error. You showed poor use of your resources and weak command. Tell me, Force Captain, why I shouldn’t demote you right now.”

“Three months ago, you made me your second-in-command!” Catra exclaimed.

“Three months ago, _you _were delivering technology and innovation to the Horde. Now you are worthless to me.”

Her heart thumped. Behind her, Scorpia inhaled, her exoskeleton shifting as if she planned to intervene. Catra hissed at her, a swift motion that silenced the princess immediately, then averted her gaze from Hordak’s spite.

But he didn’t see the fire blazing in her eyes.

“I’ll do better,” she muttered.

“You will. Because Shadow Weaver has a mission for you.”

Behind her, Scorpia exclaimed, “Shadow Weaver? B-But she’s—Well, she’s in a cell! How can she—”

“_Silence_,” Hordak boomed.

Scorpia clamped her mouth shut.

Catra was wise enough not to complete Scorpia’s spluttering, even though the same thoughts screamed in her mind. This—This couldn’t be happening. She-Ra couldn’t have set her back this far. With one meager win on the battlefield, suddenly Shadow Weaver was, what? Released from prison, manipulating her life again?

How? How had the woman managed that?

“Well, Force Captain?”

Fear crept up her spine. Her rank badge felt heavy against her chest. “What’s the mission?”

And Hordak smiled, baring teeth like dripping blood.

* * *

Everything hurt.

And she wasn’t any closer to finding Bright Moon than when she entered the Woods.

Really, they should have foreseen this. _Shadow Weaver _should have foreseen this, considering she was commanding the mission. But the woman had been more concerned with the First Ones’ tech she’d been granted, much to Entrapta’s horror. She somehow gleaned power from it, twisted it into her own horrid magic, shot it into Catra’s chest without apology.

She could feel it, even now, curdling her blood, decaying her organs.

_“Your mission is to find Adora,” _Shadow Weaver had said, coolly, but Catra heard the note of satisfaction in her voice. Of course. Of course Adora was her mission. Catra nearly scoffed, but Shadow Weaver’s fingers caressed her cheek, freezing her in place. The old woman’s mask may be shattered, but her effect on the younger woman reigned strong. _“You are not worthless, Catra, and I forgive you for your grievance. This will offer us both a chance to prove our value.”_

And what was Catra’s life, if not proving value?

So she stood, barely quelling her tremors of terror as Shadow Weaver’s hands glowed with black magic.

And now she was lost in the Whispering Woods.

Perfect.

Catra’s arm curled around her aching stomach, and she swallowed a groan. She was Force Captain, for the Horde’s sake. This pain was nothing. But her face burned and her vision blurred. Her insides were pulling themselves apart.

Find Bright Moon. Easy to say, but every section of the Woods looked the same. Catra took another unsteady step, inhaling shakily, her throat burning with a coppery aftertaste. Lost here, dying of a magical virus. Maybe this was Shadow Weaver’s plan all along… _Hordak’s_ plan all along. Maybe they’d agreed to execute her, but creatively.

Cruelly.

Seemed fitting.

She ground her teeth, breath hitching as another wave of pain washed over her. Her vision edged in black, and she blinked to clear it. Her gaze settled on a crushed flower, blue petals stained with red blood.

She was going in circles.

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she bared her fangs at the trees. “Come and _get _me, Adora! You hear me?” Shouting was not a great idea right now. Exertion in general, really. But she couldn’t yell at Hordak and she couldn’t yell at Shadow Weaver, so she screamed here instead. “You always wanted to me to follow you. Well, here I am!”

Too much. Too much sickness, too much walking, too much betrayal. Blood welled in her throat, and she doubled over, hacking again. Her lungs strained for oxygen, but she couldn’t gasp enough air between bone-rattling coughs.

Her vision blurred.

Dying here. Alone. What a legacy.

“H-Hey, _Ador-a_,” she mumbled, blood dripping from her lips.

Her knees buckled, and she fell.


	3. Dying Slowly Every Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Entrapta has bad news. Meanwhile, Adora goes on a hike.

“I just—I don’t like it.” Scorpia tapped her chela together in an incessant rhythm. The hollow _click-click-click_ing echoed through the metal room, a second soundtrack to Entrapta’s muttering. “Did you see how she looked? I don’t even _know _how she piloted that skiff. I should… well, I should have at least dropped her off at the Whispering Woods.”

Entrapta spun past Scorpia, eyes glued to the massive screen above her keyboards. “No, this is bad. Like, really bad. Why would Hordak think _that _tech is…” she broke off, mumbling under her breath as she attacked a keyboard.

Scorpia trudged to Emily, slumping over the bot’s spherical shape. “Maybe I should have said something to Hordak. I just… Why would she agree to this? A magical virus? Too dangerous. Way too dangerous. Did Shadow Weaver have to make it so convincing?”

“It can’t be anything but convincing—”

“I know,” Scorpia moaned, staring skyward. “Do you know she _staggered_, Entrapta, and then didn’t get mad when I helped? How sick she must be to let me steady her?”

“You’re not _listening_.” Entrapta’s hair whipped out, curling around Scorpia’s arm and yanking her towards the monitors. Emily beeped and edged to the other corner of the room, far, far away from Scorpia’s dejected affection, while the princesses stared at the flickering screens.

“Ah, gotta admit, I’m not quite sure what… uh…”

Entrapta huffed exasperation and pushed higher than her chair, shoving purple tendrils at the glass. “This! Right here! This is the artifact Shadow Weaver used for her magic. I didn’t have a lot of time to study it, but based on this data, I think it was a siphon for the planet.”

“A siphon. Right. Right.” Scorpia nodded, although now her eyes looked slightly glazed.

Entrapta exchanged a heavy look with Emily, then pointed at another section of numbers. “See these? These were readings directly from the artifact. If I’m correct in interpreting them, the First Ones used that piece of machinery for… purification. Like how the Fright Zone cleanses our drinking water. It took tainted magic and cleaned it, then poured it back into the planet.”

Scorpia frowned. “Well, that doesn’t sound very dangerous.”

“It’s _very _dangerous,” Entrapta exclaimed, throwing up her arms. “As a complete artifact, that would have been fine. Hard to repurpose. But we didn’t get the whole artifact. We just got a piece of it—and I think the piece we got was the magical filter.” At Scorpia’s blank look, the scientist grabbed her spiky shoulders and shook her. “The part that kept all the _bad magic_.”

“And then Shadow Weaver pushed it into Catra…”

“Exactly! Unless she yanks it back out, Catra’s body is going to deteriorate beyond rescue. And by my calculations, she’ll be past the point of no return in…” Entrapta dropped back into her chair, typing fervently.

A number appeared on the screen, big and bold.

“Six days,” Scorpia whispered.

* * *

Adora felt stupid.

To be fair, she felt stupid most days. Stupid when she had to ask what a “stove” was, since the Fright Zone didn’t have hot meals. Stupid as she explained to Glimmer why she kept a dagger under her pillow. Stupid when Queen Angella raised a hand, and Adora braced for a hit.

This was different. This wasn’t a faux pas. This was Adora, shivering in the wake of a bloodstained nightmare, taking a late-night hike through the Whispering Woods.

Alone. 

Hunting for… what?

_Evil_, her mind supplied. Secured on her back over her thin sleeping attire, the sword pulsed with the word. _Evil. Evil._

“Pretty broad term, if you ask me,” Adora muttered, climbing over a massive root. Her body ached from an intense week of training with Light Hope, and this was supposed to be her day off. She was _supposed _to have—what did Glimmer call it?

Oh, right. Rest and relaxation.

Ha.

Irritation simmered along her skin, but worse was the sick, gut feeling that the sword was right. The nightmare had been vague, more emotion than physical shapes. But she remembered the blood, dark red and seeping from a mass of black. She remembered the horror, watching from a distance as the mass throbbed, grew larger, aimed right at her with open jaws.

It lunged, and she woke up.

And then she took a hike. Because evil might be lurking.

“Evil’s always lurking,” Adora told the trees. “Don’t let the sword fool you.”

The Woods were silent in their reply.

She felt stupid, but she didn’t turn around. She couldn’t. Instead, she crawled over stones and uneven ground, edged around upturned trees, glanced at an empty sky through reaching branches. Truly, this was fun. A real shame Glimmer and Bow weren’t here to experience—

That’s when she tripped over something, landing with a squelch on bloodstained grass. 

Behind her, that something moaned.

_Evil_, the sword screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA CLIFFHANGER. 
> 
> .... for like, a day, because realistically I update my fanfics stupid fast. So.... buckle up. 
> 
> ALSO HUGE THANKS TO MY NEW BETA, [Allettepegasus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alettepegasus), who I met last night and is freaking amazing and writes the BEST WHUMP. So if you're craving more, you're really just hurting yourself by not checking out her stuff.


	4. The Blood of the Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shadow Weaver offers a proposal to Hordak. Weeks later, the fruits of her volition manifest in one very panicked Adora.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write with a semi-fluid timeline sometimes, so this first section is like, 3 weeks earlier. Just so y'all know. :P

The prison block was empty.

Inside her cell, Shadow Weaver sensed him coming long before she heard his measured footsteps. A smile curled behind her mask, pulling scarred tissue almost painfully. She didn’t smile often. Then again, she rarely had the occasion to warrant it.

Today warranted it.

Hordak stopped outside her cell. His stature was nothing short of looming, something he certainly intended. The snaking wires that crafted his muscle, his form, were almost as impressive as the shadows that coiled around Shadow Weaver at her most powerful.

She had always seen an adversary in Hordak.

It was a shame he never viewed her the same way.

“My lord,” she said. She’d pushed to her feet the moment she felt him approach. While Catra responded to vulnerability, easily manipulated through Shadow Weaver’s supposed weakness, the ruler of the Horde only respected strength.

She knew this, and thus, she stood. Even though her manacles weighed heavily on her wrists, even though her soul was empty of magic, even though she’d tallied too many days and nights alone in this place.

Shadow Weaver stood tall, and Hordak noticed.

“I am pleased you responded to my summons.”

“You do not _summon _me, Shadow Weaver.”

And yet, here he was.

She moved on. “Of course, my lord. I would never waste your time. I only wanted to offer my final proposal to you.”

“A final proposal?” His crimson eyes narrowed.

“We both know I’m a threat you won’t entertain forever,” she replied, steepling her fingers at her waist. “To pretend otherwise is a waste of your time and mine.”

“_You _have time to waste.”

“But you do not. How is Catra performing as your second, hmm?” Hordak bared his teeth, but Shadow Weaver just tutted. “I expected as much. She has exhausted her potential, and her ambition will lead the Horde to its doom.”

Hordak crossed his arms. “Is this your proposal, Shadow Weaver? Petty revenge for the one who bested you in battle?”

Shadow Weaver stiffened.

“I thought so,” Hordak said, coolly. “You were right about one thing. Your time here is limited.” He turned, his metal heels echoing in the empty prison block as he stepped out of her view.

Shadow Weaver raised her voice. “If you want to quell the Rebellion, you must eliminate She-Ra. And I know how.”

He couldn’t resist it. Behind her expressionless mask, her smile pulled at misshapen cheeks as he backtracked. Only once he was regarding her again did she deign to continue, speaking as if this was afternoon tea. “Catra cannot beat She-Ra with brute force, and Adora always outmaneuvered her in strategy sessions. But there is one area Adora was weak: her _friends_.” She hissed the word with utter disdain, poison spilling from her lips.

Hordak’s expression soured. “And tell me, Shadow Weaver, how did we fare holding the Princess of Bright Moon hostage? Do not pretend _that_ was anything but an unprecedented failure.”

“We were holding the princess against her will. Of course there would be variables. But you cannot argue that it brought Adora closer to us than ever before. And the closer Adora is, the closer we are to felling She-Ra.”

Now Hordak stayed silent.

She had him.

“I’ve recently learned of an artifact you’ve procured. A relic of old, with black magic I can feel from my cell.”

“And how did you hear about that?”

Shadow Weaver’s tone was sly, amused. “Please, Lord Hordak. I am not without my sources. My proposal is this: release me. With the black garnet and that artifact, I will be able to cultivate a virus powerful enough to vanquish She-Ra. I will lure her into the Fright Zone, and we’ll do away with this silly Rebellion once and for all.”

Hordak frowned, but didn’t walk away. “This plan only succeeds if you can convince the Princess of Power to return of her own volition. You have failed here before.”

“Ah, but before, I hadn’t considered Adora’s weakness. Why do you think she hasn’t killed Catra yet?” She didn’t give him a breath to respond. “She is still loyal to her oldest friend, and under my guidance, that loyalty will bring her nothing but pain.”

Now a malicious smile spread across Hordak’s face. “I see. Your proposal is… adequate. I will consider what you’ve said.”

Shadow Weaver dipped her head. “I await your response.”

Hordak’s footsteps echoed in the prison block long after he’d left. Shadow Weaver sunk to her knees, staring at the cell door, feeling the pulse of black magic from the reputed artifact.

One final chance to secure Adora. One final chance to enact revenge.

Nothing would stand in her way.

* * *

Adora spun towards the lump, reaching for her sword, every muscle singing with the preludes of battle. Her heart registered Catra’s mane-like hair, her velvety ears, and for a second her body relaxed. Then her brain processed it, and immediately screeched, _she’s going to attack, you moron, get ready!_

Adora braced.

Catra didn’t move.

In fact, she hadn’t moved, not even after Adora all-but kicked her. And that made Adora’s blood run cold. What had she slipped on? A coppery scent assaulted her nose as her eyes focused to the dim lighting, to the dark stains underneath Catra’s form.

Blood.

She wasn’t moving. Why wasn’t she moving?

“Catra!”

She skidded to her side, gripped her friend’s shoulders hard enough to bruise. The slick grass was cold under her knees, blood seeping spots of red into her beige pants. Around them, the Woods were eerily silent.

Catra _still wasn’t moving_.

If this was a Horde trap, it was horrifically convincing.

“What happened? What’s wrong with you?” Adora demanded harshly, panic racing up her spine. “I swear on She-Ra’s stupid tiara that if you’re playing dead, I’m going to _kill _you.”

Catra’s eyelids were slack, offering the barest sliver of yellow and blue. Blood coated her chin, and even when Adora wiped it off with her sleeve, more trickled from the corner of her mouth, bubbling past bloodstained fangs. Under Adora’s desperate hands, Catra’s forehead burned, the only real sign she wasn’t already dead.

But who knew how long that’d last?

Certainly not Adora, and the realization made her shake violently.

“This isn’t how you die. Do you hear me?”

Distantly, Adora knew she should be relieved. Hordak’s second in command was dying in her arms. Distantly, she knew that any good Rebellion soldier would be thrilled to find Catra in this condition, alone in the Whispering Woods. What a win for the Side of Good, right?

Adora felt physically sick for imagining it.

She was never a good Rebellion soldier.

Not where Catra was concerned.

“Wake _up_,” Adora all-but screamed, and when her friend didn’t move, she stripped the sword off her back and assumed She-Ra’s form in a flash of light. Catra’s limp body—_her corpse_, her mind whispered darkly—pulled away as She-Ra gained height, space she used to shove the sword’s tip at Catra’s nose.

The girl didn’t flinch. Her chest rose in slow, shallow beats, and She-Ra didn’t need feline ears to hear the rasping wetness of each labored breath.

Tears pricked She-Ra’s eyes as she focused on the sword, which was still screaming in her mind: _Evil. Evil. Eviscerate the evil!_

“She’s not evil,” She-Ra snarled. “Now _heal her_.”

She didn’t know how to heal, but things happened when She-Ra got emotional. So she used that, shoving all her desperation and love into the words, until it worked, until blue light exploded from the tip of the sword.

And then—

—inky black magic burst from Catra’s chest like hands from the deep, curling claws that latched onto She-Ra’s magic and swallowed it whole. A second later, faster than even She-Ra could react, it expelled in a violent, crackling explosion of black and red.

She-Ra slammed into a tree thirty feet away. The golden visage vanished.

Adora was left, slumping to the hard ground. Blinking back stars. Fighting a pounding headache and ever-encroaching darkness on the edges of her vision. Her chest hurt.

Her heart hurt more.

So it was a trap. She should have known.

But years of friendship had her staggering to her feet, stumbling back towards Catra. Her mind was fuzzy, her muscles wobbly, and she dropped to her knees a few feet from the explosion’s epicenter, steadying her vision long enough to see—

Catra.

Catra wasn’t moving.

“N-No. Please—wake up.” Her words were barely a whisper, shoved past aching lungs and a thumping heart. Adora reached for her, eyelids fluttering.

_Catra_ _wasn’t moving_.

Not a trap. This was real.

That, somehow, made it so much worse.

With a moan, Adora slumped to the ground, and the shadows swarmed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hee hee hee. Whump whump whump whump whump
> 
> Many thanks as always (since last week) to my new beta and BEST INTERNET FRIEND [alettepegasus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alettepegasus/pseuds/alettepegasus)! Go read her whump because it's fantastic. 
> 
> New chapter soon! I'm finishing up an original book, and once I send that to my first round readers, i will be writing fanfiction ALMOST EXCLUSIVELY. Which is awesome, and I can't wait. 
> 
> You guys rock, never change!! (Also, deepest apologies for not responding to my reviewers yet! I promise I read and cherish them all; I will get around to personal thank-yous tomorrow!)


	5. An Irredeemable Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glimmer and Bow find Adora... and Catra. It's not good.

“She doesn’t _take _walks, Bow!”

“She walks off all the time.” Bow tossed his hands in the air. “Why do you think Angella asked your aunt to put a proximity spell over her doorway? It’s because no one can keep track of her!”

“’No one’ isn’t _us_,” Glimmer ground out, digging her fingers into her fluffy hair. “And if she had to leave, why wasn’t she back this morning? You saw Mom! She was _freaking _out. What if Adora went to tackle the Horde alone? What if Catra kidnapped her in the middle of the night? What if—”

Bow gripped her arm, forcing a smile. “I’m sure she’s fine. We’ll find her.”

Behind them, Swift Wind folded his rainbow wings curtly against his flanks. “Well I, for one, am equally upset that Adora’s missing. But also, since when do you take friendship walks without me? Is it because I’m just a horse? Is that it? Because I will have you know—”

“It’s not that!” Glimmer said quickly, teleporting over a particularly tall root. She spun, crossing her arms as Bow picked his way over at a much slower pace. She forced a smile at Swift Wind, pouring fake enthusiasm into her voice. “You’re just, um… You’re always traveling when we do it! You know. Rescuing stabled horses and all that.”

Bow rolled his eyes, strolling past Glimmer as Swift Wind contemplated this.

“Hmm. I _am _diligent with my freedom flights.”

“Right! And we wouldn’t want you to stop inconveniencing the rest of Etheria just to stroll through the Whispering Woods with us. It’s not even a patrol. It’s just—ah, Adora, getting anxious in Bright Moon.” Glimmer’s tone fell flat. “Not sure _why_, considering she has a lot more freedom now. And like, no evil sorceresses hovering over her. And hot food! It’s almost like she doesn’t appreciate—”

“Princess—” Swift Wind whinnied.

“Yes, _exactly_. And she’s a Princess! People bow when she walks past. What more could she want?”

Bow snorted. “Right. The definition of happiness.”

Glimmer shot him a withering look.

Swift Wind spread his wings, stomping the ground. “Guys! Listen. Can’t you feel it?”

“Uh, are we listening… or feeling?” Bow asked, reaching for an arrow. “And is this thing trying to kill us?”

Swift Wind lowered his head, picking his way through a particularly closed-off section of trees. “No, it’s Adora. I can feel her. She’s nearby, but she’s… oh…” He tossed his head. “Not good. We have to hurry!”

The horse thundered through the Woods, and Glimmer grabbed Bow’s arm to teleport after him. They poofed into existence just as Swift Wind skidded to a halt in an overgrown clearing.

Glimmer stiffened, eyes widening at the damage. Aside from the obvious signs of a battle—the scorch marks of an explosion, the bark that splintered off a nearby tree, as if something slammed into it at top speed, _She-Ra’s sword_ lying disused amidst the grass—there was the simple fact of Adora, unconscious, and _Catra_, _looming over her body_.

The reaction was instantaneous.

“Get _away _from her,” Glimmer screamed, lunging forward as her hands sparked with magic.

“No, wait,” Catra rasped, but Glimmer slammed into her in the next millisecond, magic exploding in the feline’s face. They crashed to the ground, and Glimmer teleported off her seconds before Bow’s arrow exploded in a weighted net. Catra crashed to the ground, thrashing weakly, until Bow tapped something on his bow and the net crackled with electricity.

“Stun nets,” he said proudly.

Catra wheezed, choking on her scream.

It was music to Glimmer’s ears.

“Adora,” Swift Wind said, kneeling beside their unconscious friend. He tapped his horn against her forehead, and it glowed briefly before Adora gasped and jerked upright, very nearly impaling herself.

A horned horse. Not smart.

“Ha! I fixed you! You’re welcome,” Swift Wind said.

Adora didn’t seem to hear him. She groaned, one arm wrapping around her stomach as her gaze fell on the discarded sword, on the damage to the tree. Then her eyes widened and she spun.

“_Catra_!”

“We got her,” Bow said, soothingly.

Adora pushed them away, scrambling to her feet. Glimmer teleported closer, but was brushed aside as Adora staggered forward. “No, no, you don’t understand. She’s hurt!”

“She was hurting _you_,” Glimmer said icily.

“She wasn’t! She was unconscious; she was—” Adora’s eyes fell on the trapped feline, who, despite the twitching aftershocks of electricity, had gone unnaturally still under Bow’s net.

Adora crashed to her knees, tears shining in her eyes. “I don’t understand. I tried to heal you. Why didn’t it work? Catra!” She ripped the net off Catra’s body. “Say something!”

But Catra’s expression was slack, and all she managed was a wet cough and a mumbled, “_A-dora_,” before her eyelids slid shut.

Glimmer took a step forward, but Bow grabbed her arm. “Um, Glimmer. I think we misjudged this.”

“You think, Bow?” she hissed back.

Glimmer was _not _a fan of mornings like this.

* * *

Catra hurt.

She should have expected it; growing up in the Horde, there weren’t many days where cadets didn’t awake with bruises on their bruises. But—she could count on two hands the times she’d woken up and thought, _no, no, not today._

She could count on _one finger_ the times she’d woken up and felt this close to death, though.

“Catra? _Catra_,” someone was shouting. Screeching, really. Well, that, she recognized; Adora’s voice always climbed a few octaves when she was really worried. Or indignant. Or exasperated.

Actually, Adora tended to live in the soprano range of life.

Good news, though: the Rebellion found her after all. Phase one of the mission was complete. Yaaay.

“Adora, I’m fine,” Catra lied, but it came out slurred, more a mumbled moan than anything.

That sparked fear in her chest. She wasn’t supposed to deteriorate this fast. She was supposed to be sick, sure, but aware enough to manipulate Adora. It was _supposed _to be an act—a convincing one crafted of lies and subterfuge.

She wasn’t actually supposed to die.

Was she?

The ground beneath her shifted, and a lance of pain pierced her chest. Catra clenched her teeth so tightly her fangs sliced her lip, but although she didn’t make a sound, Adora’s grip tightened on her shoulders.

“Wait, stop. We’re hurting her!”

Well, that was a bit dramatic.

“You’re not—” Catra tried to drawl, but her lungs constricted painfully and the sting of copper surged up her throat. She barely managed to push out of Adora’s grasp before heaving, her ears pressed flat against her skull at the sick sound of blood splattering the grass.

Behind her, the shiny princess and the archer were panicking, and a distinct, disgusted whinny told her that ridiculous horse was here too. Their words faded into muted chaos as a ringing overtook her mind, like Entrapta was banging a six-sided _something _against one of her more echoey machines.

Catra stared at the blurred sight of red staining green, noting distantly that her claws were dusted in drops. Huh. Weird to have her own blood staining her hands, for once.

Then again, this _was _all her fault.

Ugh. No. Catra growled, spitting on the ground. This was _Shadow Weaver’_s fault. Shadow Weaver was manipulating everyone again, and Hordak didn’t even see it. They were all fools. This plan only worked if Adora cared enough to enter the Fright Zone _for _her, and that ship sailed the instant Catra slid the sword’s razor edge against green webbing, smiling as Adora slipped further into the darkness.

Adora didn’t care about her. The only reason she was pretending right now was guilt, but guilt wasn’t enough to propel someone into certain death.

Catra knew that firsthand.

Awareness inched back into focus, starting with Adora’s bruising hold on Catra’s shoulders and ending with murky speech that lilted and faded with the light of the forest. She blinked again, hard, trying to regain some semblance of clear vision, but the trees curved and dipped and the blood’s acrid scent made her nauseas all over again.

“—teleport her back to Bright Moon—” Adora was demanding.

Ha. Adora was always demanding. Good to know Catra wasn’t the only one she ordered around.

The shiny one responded about as kindly as Catra usually did. “Oh, _sure_. Let’s just bring Hordak’s _second in command_ to our infirmary—”

Catra’s vision narrowed, darkness edging around her. Shadows. She hissed at them, but they caressed her chin anyway, lifting her gaze to one glowing red eye. Old habits made Catra tense, which incited a whole new round of pain. She shuddered in Adora’s grasp as Shadow Weaver’s spy watched impassively.

“G’way,” Catra tried to snarl, but it came out muddled.

_Pathetic_, the spy whispered in her ear.

She wasn’t sure if it was Shadow Weaver’s voice, or Hordak’s.

“—tra! –got you, okay—rything’ll be fine—”

Empty words for an irredeemable soul.

Forget it. Adora might not know it yet, but she wasn’t going to help, and Catra was so, so tired of hoping she might. It was pointless. After all this time, Catra was nothing more than Shadow Weaver’s pawn, and it was stupid to think she’d ever be anything else.

If this was her execution, she wanted it on her terms.

So Catra stopped fighting.

And let the darkness overtake her yet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know I'm loving a story when I write something like this, then crack my knuckles and whisper, "The whump is just beginning...." >:) 
> 
> AS ALWAYS MUCH THANKS TO MY FABULOUS BETA, [ ALETTEPEGASUS. ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alettepegasus/pseuds/alettepegasus) Even if her comments for this chapter were mostly screams. XD


	6. You Don't Understand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Entrapta tries to reason with Hordak, and Adora smuggles Catra into Bright Moon.

“You don’t understand,” Entrapta said, tossing up her hands. Behind her, Emily sunk lower on her metallic legs, trilling a sound of fear as Hordak narrowed his eyes. The imp crawled overhead, his claws sounding like Fred and Joe, the rats who lived in the vents above Entrapta’s lab.

Huh. She hadn’t actually seen Fred and Joe in a while. Maybe she should send a bot to—

Gah, _focus_. Usually she loved chasing her tangents, because tangents offered creativity in the field of science, but today, _for Catra_, she had to focus. She made a mental note to revisit the rat topic, then continued: “The relic you gave Shadow Weaver is far too dangerous to experiment with.”

“Wasn’t experimentation your plan for it?” Hordak intoned, a thread of exasperation tinting his words.

Entrapta scoffed. The nerve. “Well, sure, but I’m a scientist!” She curled up in the seat of her hair, crossing her arms almost petulantly. “There’s a process to how I examine First Ones’ tech, a method of testing and recording. Without it, there’s no data collected, no way to understand where it could be useful!”

“It’s useful with Shadow Weaver.” Hordak glanced at her, bloodred eyes narrowing slightly before he moved to another workbench.

She followed, the swishing steps of her hair yanking her forward, ignoring the way he growled. “But this relic is dangerous! You know Catra has increased Horde capabilities by four-hundred—”

“_Catra_ has failed me too many times. I do not care about increased capabilities if She-Ra is decimating my forces every time we advance. Shadow Weaver offered a solution, and I intend to see it through.”

Entrapta landed heavily, her boots thumping on the metal floor. Her hair dragged behind her now, limp, defeated. “Then… you’re just going to watch her die?”

Hordak pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaled slowly. “She isn’t dying. It’s a _ruse_.”

“Oh, but it’s not.” Entrapta fished out her datapad, shoved it under Hordak’s nose. He didn’t understand. It was a common problem whenever she opened her mouth, and sometimes she wondered if it was a result of the subject at hand… or her delivery of it.

Note to self: work on presentation. Much as she wished she could hole up in her lab all day, explaining discoveries to her higher-ups was part of the job. And Entrapta was very, very good at her job.

“Look, I broke it down. This is the data I collected before Shadow Weaver took the relic. And this number, right here? That’s the concentration of magic it possesses. I’d have to retest it to discover how much magic she used on Catra, but if it’s anything higher than 12%, Catra won’t make it back to the Fright Zone at all.”

There. That seemed simple enough.

Entrapta held her breath, waiting for Hordak to come to his senses.

He took the datapad from her, studying it. His scowl deepened. Then he handed it back to her and said, “I see. I will have a discussion with Shadow Weaver.”

“Oh, _good_.” Entrapta sighed, relief nearly crippling her. She gripped the datapad to her chest and smiled. “Scorpia said you wouldn’t, but I knew you’d care!”

Hordak faced her, stepped closer, and her head tilted up and up. Wow, he was tall. He almost… loomed. Intentional? Probably. And effective; fear pricked her spine in a way it usually didn’t around Hordak.

His words were cold, precise. “Scorpia is correct. Catra’s life matters not to me. If she is too weak to conquer this virus, then she is too weak for the Horde. What I do not appreciate, however, is the absence of truth from a subordinate. _That _is why I will speak with Shadow Weaver.”

Entrapta stiffened, eyes widening.

Hordak waved a hand, nodding at the door. “You are dismissed, Entrapta.”

Above them, the imp repeated, “_Dismissed, dismissed, dismissed._”

“But—”

“_Now_,” Hordak snapped, and the word might as well be She-Ra’s sword slicing through bone.

Emily nudged Entrapta towards the door, and she followed, numbly. That… that couldn’t be right. He _had _to care. Catra was his second-in-command. Everything Catra did, she did for Hordak and his army. And Entrapta liked Hordak. He would never disregard his loyal soldiers like this.

Would he?

Huh. Maybe she should reprioritize, because clearly _Presentation of Data _needed work. Immediately.

* * *

Bow bounced on his heels, fretting. “Uh… are we sure lying to Queen Angella is the best move? I don’t think she’ll be happy to realize we’re harboring a criminal under her roof.”

Adora shifted her hold on Catra. Cradled against her chest, her friend was limp and unresponsive, worryingly warm. Catra’s breathing was barely more than rasping inhales, and the pause after each one stretched so long, Adora was convinced she wouldn’t draw another.

Catra needed a bed. Rest. _Medicine_. Adora was no stranger to battle wounds, no stranger to emergency first aid, but all of her supplies were in her bedroom, not out here in Swift Wind’s pasture, hidden in the shadow of Bright Moon’s castle.

Glimmer crossed her arms, chin jutting out. “Oh, Mom’s going to be furious, trust me. Which is why I think this plan is _crazy_, and obviously she’s _faking it_!” The last line, she snapped at Catra.

Who—surprise, surprise—didn’t move. Because she was _bleeding from the inside._ Adora’s irritation simmered, and her fingers tightened unconsciously around Catra’s body. “She’s not faking it. You saw the blood. If she wanted to kill me, she’d have done it while I was unconscious.”

“She almost did! We saw her standing over you—”

“Checking on me,” Adora gritted out.

At her tone, the princess tossed up her hands and stomped towards Swift Wind, who’d lost interest and was munching on a particularly green patch of grass. She grumbled under her breath, and Adora caught a few curse words before she was out of earshot.

“Hey, there’s no need for that,” Adora called after her.

Glimmer scowled, cupping her mouth for amplification: “There’s also no need to save the person who _kidnapped—_” 

“Okaaay,” Bow stepped in, shooting Glimmer a placating smile before facing Adora. “Look. She’s your friend. I get it. But don’t you think she’ll do better in the infirmary anyway? The queen’s doctors are the best in Etheria.”

“Seriously, Bow? You want to hand a _war criminal_ over to doctors who probably had their villages destroyed by the Horde?”

Bow wrung his hands. “They swore an oath.”

“And if Queen Angella orders them to just… let her die. What then? Which oath are they going to follow?”

Bow didn’t have an answer for that.

Adora shifted Catra’s weight until her friend’s head rested on her shoulder. She wasn’t heavy, but after Swift Wind saw her vomiting blood, he resoundingly refused to carry her. And Glimmer wasn’t proving much help in the teleporting category. Adora was strong, but even her arms got tired eventually.

Desperation filtered into her voice now. “Come on, guys. She was my best friend. She saved my life—”

“Was this before or after she tried to gut you from behind?” Glimmer demanded.

Adora was tired and aching and it was late and Catra _still_ hadn’t opened her eyes, and at Glimmer’s words, her patience finally snapped.

“Before, actually! You know what happens if you get sick in the Horde? Solitary confinement. Without food. In a hole with one tiny light overhead. And since only the strong survive in the Horde, they don’t check on you, even if you need medicine or blankets. Even when you’re feverish and hallucinating.”

Glimmer had inched closer, eyes widening in horror. Beside her, Bow looked aghast. Even Swift Wind tossed his head and muttered, “Yeesh.”

“Yeah. Yeesh.” Adora ran her finger along the velvety fur of Catra’s arm, clenching her eyes shut. “I would have died, except Catra broke me out. Catra stole medicine for me. Catra kept me hidden and safe. So please, guys. I can’t just leave her like this. _Please_.” Her voice broke on the word, and tears pricked her eyes.

A hand rested on her arm, and Adora glanced sideways to see Glimmer, expression apologetic, brows knitted together. She pulled Adora into a half-hug, the best she could do with Catra’s dead—no, _not _dead, never dead—weight between them.

“I didn’t know,” Glimmer said, quietly. “I’m sorry, Adora. We’ll help however we can.”

Bow hugged her other side, and Adora’s tears welled. She blinked, rubbing her cheeks on her bloodstained jacket, before saying, “T-Thanks, guys. We need to get her inside, and if the infirmary has medicine, I’m going to need that too.”

“We can do that. Bye, Swift Wind,” Glimmer said, and before the horse comprehended the words, she poofed the four of them into Adora’s bedroom. She paled at the strain of it, but forced a smile regardless.

Contrarily, Catra gasped, a wet, ragged sound that had them all flinching. Adora eased Catra onto the thin mattress of her cot while her friend moaned. In the soft light of Adora’s bedroom, her face was flushed red, her eyebrows knitted in pain. Heat radiated off of her in waves.

Where was the wound?

“How did _that _jostle her more than hiking through the Woods?” Glimmer whispered heatedly.

“I don’t know,” Adora said, pressing a hand on Catra’s forehead. Panic tinged her voice. “She’s getting worse. We need that medicine.”

“What kind?” Bow asked, frowning.

Of course. Of _course _there were too many kinds to count. Doctors knew better, but Adora had no idea where Catra was injured. Had the Horde attacked her, or a Rebellion fighter? Or was she just really sick? Too many variables. Adora’s head spun with possibilities.

Mindlessly, she unbuckled Catra’s belt and yanked up her shirt, pressing hard against her stomach to find the problem. Bow squeaked and spun around, but Glimmer stepped closer, hands glowing for a fight. Which was pretty unnecessary, considering Catra’s state.

A state Adora still didn’t understand, since Catra’s stomach and chest, bound in tight wraps, were unmarred.

But her prodding must have forced Catra into consciousness, because one golden eye opened, glassy and dazed. It took her far too long to comprehend what was happening, but after a moment she managed to drawl, “W-Wow, Adora. At least buy me—dinner first—”

Relief slammed into Adora, and she didn’t bother hiding it from her tone. “_Catra_! What happened? You have to tell me what’s wrong!”

Catra struggled to focus on her, but her bloodstained smile couldn’t be missed. She didn’t seem to be getting enough oxygen, her breath coming in short pants. When she wheezed, it sounded like a wet, rolling growl in the back of her throat. “Come on, A-Adora. Don’t you—recognize—Shadow W-Weaver’s handiwork—?”

Her voice was barely audible, but everyone in the room stiffened.

“Medicine,” Adora breathed to Bow, without taking her eyes off Catra’s. Even though Catra’s tone was casual, her smile distant, Adora didn’t miss the fear in her eyes. “Bow, Glimmer. _Get the medicine_.”

“What kind?” Bow asked again, more desperately.

Adora’s breath hitched. “All of it. Hurry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost called this one "War Criminals," since my amazing beta ([ GO READ HER STUFF! ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alettepegasus/pseuds/alettepegasus)) and I just had an intense debate about whether or not Season 2 Catra would be considered a "war criminal" by Bright Moon's standards. I think yes, since she led the siege on Thaymor and has taken hostages, but Alettepegasus doesn't think she gets this bad until Season 3. 
> 
> So in case you were wondering, these are the things I get up to when I'm not writing new chapters. XD
> 
> ALSO this fic has become a fascinating character study for me. Jumping to the other POVs is really, really entertaining. XD Poor Entrapta. She just can't communicate how she wants.


	7. A Breath of Stale Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hordak has his meeting with Shadow Weaver, and Catra is granted a brief reprieve.

Hordak disliked many things. It wasn’t hard, stranded on a backwater planet like this.

He hated the air. It was too heavy, weighted like sickeningly-sweet steam—where it provided the sustenance to survive, but he had to concentrate on every breath, had to convince himself it was enough when nothing had felt _enough_ for centuries.

He hated the magic. He was bred of technology, thrived in metal and motherboards and circuitry. Technology was predictable, a steady constant. If something didn’t work, it could be easily fixed with the right tools, the proper coding. It was nothing like the chaos of magic, where the whim of a silly girl could drench his armies in seawater or encapsulate his tanks in ice.

But most of all, he hated the _people_. Etherians were… infuriating. They squabbled with each other, yet failed to recognize a higher power. In the known galaxies, Hordak’s name was whispered in dark rooms, late at night. In the known galaxies, all he needed to do was flash the Horde’s symbol, and the people fell in line. Rebellion was a quaint dream slashed eons ago.

And yet, here on Etheria, in a galaxy so far removed the stars had vanished, Hordak struggled to quell one measly rebel force.

It was ridiculous.

Incensing.

Hordak stalked the lengths of his empire, a paltry combination of ramshackle buildings and inferior troops. Nothing like Horde Prime’s fleet, all gleaming hallways and deadly soldiers—why was it that in _everything _he tried to do, Hordak was always second best? If his brother saw this mess… Hordak could almost imagine his derision.

Well. A problem for another day. Today, he had a meeting.

And Shadow Weaver would not like the result.

He stopped outside her room, felt the pulse of the Black Garnet beyond. His scowl deepened. Magic to quell the magic warrior. And just as he expected, chaos exploded from a simple task.

Entrapta was not wrong. He didn’t understand.

But he also didn’t care to.

Under his amplified strength, the door flew open, the lock’s metal bending and misshaping with a horrendous squeal. He billowed into the room with all the flair of Horde Prime during his most important war meetings, and a lick of satisfaction caressed his soul as he watched Shadow Weaver stiffen, shove away whatever feedback her spies were offering her.

“M-My lord,” she stammered.

Good. She wasn’t so arrogant as to forget her place.

He was a busy man, and thus didn’t have time for pleasantries. “I have been told you lied to me, Shadow Weaver. You are not the only one with _sources_… and I think you’ll recall I tolerate very little in the way of insubordination.”

Shadow Weaver regained her composure quickly. Under the Black Garnet’s pulse, shadowy tendrils licked her clothes, curled around her hair. Daunting to anyone else, but Hordak wasn’t so easily impressed.

Or intimidated.

“My lord,” she began. “I’m unsure of what you speak. Our plan is proceeding as intended; Catra has been taken back to Bright Moon, and Adora will soon be ours. The virus is a complete success.”

“Do not talk to me about success. You swore you could control the magic of the artifact.” Now his eyes cut across the room, to a thin metal piece displayed almost reverentially on a table. Its pulse was quieter than the Black Garnet, but no less imposing.

Shadow Weaver pulled her shoulders back, almost indignantly. “And I will swear it again; that artifact’s power is potent but malleable. For a skilled sorceress like myself, every break it causes is intentional.”

Hordak’s lips curled back into a sneer, and he advanced on her, his metal exosuit humming with latent power. “Even Catra’s impending death?”

A beat of silence passed between them, weighing the already heavy air with tension.

“You have been misinformed, my lord,” Shadow Weaver finally purred. She stepped back from her scrying circle, waving a hand over the water until an image formed. “As you can see, Catra skirts death no more than I do.”

Hordak’s gaze flicked to the wavering image. It was obviously live footage from one of her spies, lurking in the corner of a plush, ostentatious room. Catra’s shivering form was being doted on by the rebel queen’s daughter, a meaningless sidekick, and—Adora. She braced Catra’s form as the feline writhed, eyes fever-bright, blood trickling from her mouth.

But Hordak didn’t miss the grim set of Adora’s lips. That expression of concern appeared across every species, on every planet.

Hmm.

Above the chaos, satisfaction lined every inch of Shadow Weaver’s posture. “I would not lie to you, my lord.” He nearly scoffed, even as she continued smoothly, “But Adora is no fool. If we want to convince her to venture into the Fright Zone, we must first bring her oldest friend to death’s doorstep.”

Adora’s expression was the only reason he didn’t throw this sorceress back into her cell. Instead, he held Shadow Weaver’s gaze, his voice cold and clear. “I will only say this once. If Catra dies—you will follow.”

“My lord, I didn’t realize you cared so much for her.”

Her tone bordered on sarcasm.

Hordak snarled, slamming a hand into the Black Garnet. His fingers dug into the stone, and he watched coldly as Shadow Weaver cried out, crashed to the ground, her hand hovering around the empty slot along her cracked mask. 

“What I don’t care for, Shadow Weaver, is _insubordination_.” His grip tightened on the smooth surface of the stone, and with every spider crack that splintered from his metal claws, Shadow Weaver writhed in pain.

It was ironic, he thought, how similar she and Catra looked now.

“It seems you’ve forgotten your place, so allow me to clarify. You are not reinstated as my right hand. You have no control over my troops or my runestone. And I will not watch while you steal liberties I have not granted over a commander who carried the Horde further than you ever dared.”

He extracted his claws one by one, knelt beside the whimpering, pathetic mess of a woman, and lifted her chin.

“Is that _understood_, Shadow Weaver?”

“Y-Yes, my lord,” Shadow Weaver gasped.

There. Finally, the respect he deserved. Hordak stood, cast one more glance at Catra’s limp form, at the rebel soldiers fussing over her.

“Fix this,” he said simply.

Then he stalked from the room.

* * *

Catra was suffocating.

It was that slow, dull panic that cascaded into an avalanche of fear as awareness crept into her mind. The bed, firm, yet too not-lumpy for a Horde mattress. Filtered afternoon light that shone against her closed eyelids. A rumbling sound not unlike purring—no, not purring. Snoring. Adora’s snoring.

And Catra’s breaths: short gasps… and getting shorter.

Panic drowned everything.

It wasn’t enough. Wasn’t _enough_.

“Adora,” she tried to say, but she didn’t even have enough air for that. Stupid _Adora_. Bringing her into Bright Moon’s ridiculous castle, making such a fuss earlier about bandaging her, medicating her, healing her—and then falling asleep while Catra suffocated.

Typical.

_Typical_.

Catra’s mind darkened, even as she tried to wrest her eyes open. Her chest rose and fell almost violently, and she could already feel the swell of blood rising in her throat. Her hand grappled for Adora, but her muscles weren’t cooperating, her feverish brain not making the connection. Her claws twitched beside Adora’s soft hair.

She couldn’t even moan. The magical virus felt like a tank parked on her chest, crushing her, cracking her, then oozing into the crevices until black oil was all she had inside, dying her blood and staining her soul. 

No air.

Just like Hordak’s vile machine, where she crashed to her knees while he stared impassively, scoffing about their weak planet and weaker people. The air was all gone. In her mind’s eye, Catra clawed at her throat.

In reality, her chest stilled.

Catra drifted.

And then—suddenly—a dark voice ordered, “_Don’t you dare, you _disobedient_ child,” _and something yanked the magic off her. It happened in a violent tear, like ripping off the adhesive of a bandage. In the same instance, crisp oxygen flooded her lungs, and Catra seized a ragged breath.

Adora jackknifed upright.

“Catra?” she demanded, in that sleepy _I’m-alert _voice she always had during early-morning drills.

Catra inhaled sharply, chest heaving in a different way as the cloud of panic faded. The acidic press of blood drained from her throat, leaving only the coppery aftertaste. On her chest, the magic still lurked in the cracks, but the weight wasn’t crushing anymore.

She finally managed to pry open her eyes, hissing against the mid-afternoon glare.

Adora’s face filled her vision.

Ugh. Catra hissed louder. “By the Horde, Adora, _go away_.”

“Hey, you’re welcome,” Adora said indignantly. “How about a thank-you for carrying you out of the Woods? Or for stealing medicine to bring down your fever?”

A _thank-you_. Catra scoffed. She’d almost died three inches from Adora’s face, and now that she was properly awake for the first time in days—felt like years—the first thing Adora demanded was gratitude.

But before Catra could properly start _that _argument, Adora’s calloused hand pressed against her forehead, moving with purpose over both temples. Someone must have removed Catra’s headguard at some point. Her ears flicked in irritation, but her scathing critique was swallowed when Adora’s brows knitted together in concern.

“Great. You still feel really warm… But your breathing sounds better, so maybe the medicine earlier worked—”

“It didn’t,” Catra replied curtly. She pushed herself upright, swallowing a groan as her muscles screamed protest.

Adora frowned, hovering. “You really shouldn’t be up—”

“Well, I am. The medicine didn’t do anything. The only reason I’m awake is because Shadow Weaver pulled some magic back.” Catra’s skin felt hyper-sensitive, where even the satin sheets seemed to rub her fur wrong. Aching all over, she threw back the covers, drawing a ragged breath as she swung her feet to the marble floor.

“Huh. That’s… unusually kind of—okay, can you _not_, please?” Adora snapped, pushing Catra’s shoulder. “You were coughing _blood_ a few hours ago. You need to stay in bed!”

Ha. What a cute idea. “Careful, Adora,” Catra purred, tracing her cheek with a claw. Adora recoiled, blue eyes blazing as Catra coughed a laugh. “You might make people think you _care _about Hordak’s right hand.”

Was she even Hordak’s right hand anymore?

Did it matter?

Adora stiffened. “I absolutely care about you, Catra. You’re my best friend, and you scared me shitless last night.” More fake concern. It was pathetic how close Catra came to following Adora into this stupid castle. At least in the Fright Zone, her lies were moderately convincing.

Well, okay. Partly convincing.

“You don’t have to lie, _princess_. We’re the only ones here.”

“It’s not a lie,” Adora said through gritted teeth. “Why are you so frustrating? I’m trying to help you.”

“You want to help me? Stop shoving medicine down my throat and take me back to the Fright Zone.”

Adora paled. “Catra, you know what their ‘infirmary’ looks—”

Catra’s already thin patience snapped. She pushed off the bed, wobbled a bit, grabbed Adora’s stupid ex-Horde jacket. Adora’s words vanished as Catra invaded every inch of her space, pressed flush against Adora’s muscular form. It would have been gratifying on another day, but Catra was so tired and aching and irritated that she barely mustered any emotion now.

“As usual, you’re not _listening_.” Her nose twitched at the dried blood saturating Adora’s scent, and her ears pressed flat against her skull. “I’m going to say this again, slowly, so you understand. This isn’t an illness. I’m not _sick_. Medicine won’t work, and unless you want me writhing on your pretty marble floor tomorrow, you’ll take me back to Shadow Weaver so I can bury my claws in her heart.”

A beat passed between them. Catra’s claws pierced the fabric bunched in her hand, but Adora didn’t pull away.

This close, Catra could see the dark bags under her eyes, the exhaustion that lined every inch of her face. The Rebellion should really make sure their heaviest hitter got more sleep.

“She’s killing you,” Adora whispered. It was part question, part sad statement.

And the look in her eyes.

The pity.

Catra snarled, shoving her away. The motion made Catra stagger, and she collapsed onto the cot before she could crash to the ground. Pathetic. Shadow Weaver must be _loving _this.

“Only until I return the favor,” Catra hissed, and glared at the darkest corner of the room, leaving the threat hanging like a noose. 

Meanwhile, Adora stared down at her, silent. She was a problem solver. A strategist. Voted Best Choice for a War Council by Lonnie and Rogelio, back when they were twelve (not that Catra could blame them, when Kyle was the alternative). And as if that wasn’t bad enough, she was an _optimist _on top of it. So it came as absolutely no surprise that her next words were:

“A magical virus, huh? Okay. I can fix this. Let’s fight magic with magic.”

Catra buried her head in her hands.

She _hated _this week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to pull back a bit so she could make it through this fic. Poor cat child. XD But also the whump to come.... oooomg it's gonna be goooooood. >:3
> 
> [ ALSO, I made a Ko-fi account. ](https://ko-fi.com/wicked42) :D No pressure--I'll still be writing and updating like normal--but if you have a few dollars and really enjoy my writing, I'd be eternally grateful for a delicious caffeinated beverage! Plus, there's info there on the new COMMISSIONS I just opened! So feel free to take a peek! <3 
> 
> Until next week!


	8. The Price of Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scorpia takes matters into her own pincers, and Catra reveals the ultimatum.

Oh no.

This was bad. Like, worse than running out of hors d’oeuvres at Princess Prom, bad. Worse than falling asleep in Force Captain Orientation, bad. Worse than—than welcoming the Horde into her familial lands, then watching them bury the scorpioni legacy in a city of steel and smoke, bad.

Catra’s skiff.

Crashed at the edge of the Whispering Woods.

Scorpia gulped, glancing over her shoulder at the desolate no-man’s-land that separated the rebel’s territory from the Fright Zone. Hordak would be furious if he knew she’d come here. No one stopped her; the echoes of her family’s position, of her scorned title, ensured that. But if that little demon-thing crawled back to Hordak, whispered in his ear about how she’d left—

Hang on. Could that thing even whisper? Scorpia had only ever heard it repeat spoken conversations. Would it… would it play a recording of the skiff powering on? Wasn’t like she’d narrated every action as she stole—wait, _borrowed_—the vehicle and snuck out.

Imagine that nasty little creature hissing engine noises into Hordak’s ear… Ha! Scorpia would love to see the look on their great leader’s face. And if he figured it out, he’d be shocked she’d masterminded such a heist.

Well, if he cared that she’d left at all. Which he probably didn’t, since no one really paid Scorpia any mind these days. If she was being honest, it… it kind of hurt, the realization that she could fade away and no one would miss her.

Steal a skiff, and no one would care.

No one but Catra.

“Well, that’s why you’re here,” Scorpia told herself, setting her jaw.

Then she laughed, boisterous enough to startle birds in the nearby trees. “Oops! Guess I do narrate. Should probably work on that.” She tapped one chela against her temple, nearly poking herself in the eye with one of her sharper ridges. “Ouch!” She glared at her arm, then picked her way to Catra’s abandoned skiff.

It was a mess, which wasn’t really a surprise. Scorpia vividly recalled—over and over and _over _again, all while pacing through the Fright Zone’s corridors, muttering to the soundtrack of pounding boots and shouted orders—how Catra staggered onto the thing yesterday, how pale she’d been, how she doubled over coughing and when she straightened, her hand was red with blood. 

And she’d still taken hold of the skiff’s controls and steered it from the Fright Zone, bold and fearless even facing such dire sickness. Facing… death.

Scorpia’s pincers clenched tight enough her joints ached, but she still forced herself to examine the wreckage further.

She wished she hadn’t. The blood spatters were impossible to miss, rust-red staining dusty metal. Dried now, so it must have been a while since Catra was here. That didn’t surprise Scorpia either: when Catra had a mission, by golly, she’d accomplish it.

No matter what.

“Show me the way, wildcat,” Scorpia said, scanning the ground for more drops of blood. It wasn’t hard to see how the skiff skidded to a crashing stop just outside the Woods, or how Catra had clearly picked herself from the wreckage and staggered into the brush. Even a thin little thing like her left a mark on the land.

Scorpia followed it as delicately as she could—which meant she was about as subtle as a tank crashing through trees. After the fourth flock of birds took to the skies at her bumbling steps, Scorpia stopped short, swallowing a moan.

“I am _not _good at this,” she mumbled, staring miserably at the fading evidence of Catra’s path.

She’d headed towards Bright Moon, but… how could anyone tell which direction Bright Moon was in this maddening forest? And as sick as she was, what guarantee did Scorpia have that she hadn’t just fainted under some root, or collapsed in a bush?

Catra could sniff herself out, but Scorpia didn’t have a great sense of smell. Or hearing. Or sight. Really, she just had her exoskeleton, her chela, her tail. She might be handy in a fight, but everyone in the Fright Zone knew she wasn’t useful anywhere else.

What was she doing? Catra deserved a better rescuer than this. She should have asked Entrapta’s help, or… or enlisted Catra’s old squad. This wasn’t a time for pride; her favorite person’s life was at stake here.

Meanwhile, Scorpia couldn’t even sneak through the Woods without scaring birds.

She hesitated, glancing through the trees at the skiff, barely visible behind her. Should she go back, try to find real help? Or—

“—heard something!”

“Another squirrel?” a second voice joked.

The first huffed. “No! I’m telling you, someone was talking over here. Come on!”

Rebellion soldiers! Scorpia tensed, slipping into a fighting stance. They’d never take her! Except… wait a second. Catra was heading to Bright Moon. Catra was competent and capable and beautiful, and _Catra _never failed a mission. Which meant Catra must be in Bright Moon already.

And if these were rebels, they had access to Bright Moon.

Hmm.

Scorpia turned in their direction, adjusted her Force Captain badge, and raised her chela in a threatening manner.

Two teenage boys picked through the trees. Yep, yep, good. Rebellion armor, and princess-issued weapons. Their jaws dropping as they realized who they’d found.

“H-Hands up! Um, claws up?”

“Whatever. Don’t move!”

Scorpia stumbled for a response. “I’m… uh, I’m a fierce Horde soldier, and I’m going to kill you!” She imagined Catra’s swagger, her hissing snarl, and added, “Rawr!”

One of them squeaked and fired his weapon—and an electrified net burst from the gun. Despite her façade, Scorpia was _not _prepared for that nasty shock. She yelped, crumbling like paper under the netting’s weight, her ears ringing as the kids swarmed her.

One pressed a glaive’s point against her neck.

“Don’t move. We’re taking you back to Bright Moon.”

“Oh, darn it all,” Scorpia croaked.

_I’m coming, wildcat._

* * *

Fight magic with magic.

Okay. Sure. Easier said than done.

Adora blinked hard at the list before her. It was titled, _Magical Cures for a Magically Ailing Cat(ra)_. Her handwriting, as always, was neat and round, but despite her prized penmanship, the letters swam together in a mush of graphite. Adora blinked again, and when nothing fixed itself, she growled and pinched her arm.

Her yelp made Catra glance over. The feline’s expression appeared bored, lazy, but Adora didn’t miss the flash of irritation in her eyes.

“You know what does wonders for brainstorming? It’s this new thing called _sleep_.”

Ironic, considering Catra was perched next to the massive window, very decidedly not in bed. The echoes of _that _argument probably still reverberated through the halls.

How Angella hadn’t realized Bright Moon’s visitor yet was beyond Adora. Bow and Glimmer must be doing a stand-up job of keeping her distracted.

Adora quirked an eyebrow. “Really? Is that why your bright ideas end at ‘take me back to the Fright Zone?’”

“No, my ideas end with the Fright Zone because _nothing else will help_.” Catra scoffed, turned back to the window. Beyond it, the Whispering Woods spread like a tumultuous green lake, rippling in the gentle breeze. Could Catra see all the way to the Fright Zone, or did her eyesight fail at the distant haze of smog too?

Adora lowered her pencil. “Can you get away from the window?”

“Aww, afraid someone will see me?” Catra crooned.

“Yes, actually.”

“Come on, Adora. What’s that stupid queen going to do? Throw me in jail?” Catra’s voice assumed a brightly horrified tone, pressing a clawed hand to her cheek. “Torture me?” Now she dropped the act, turning her calculating gaze back to the window. “I’ll be dead before she can try.”

Adora gritted her teeth, jaw aching with the strain. Her eyes dropped again to the list, but it was decidedly sparse.

  1. _Castaspella? _
  2. _Light Hope?_
  3. _… She-Ra?_

That was it. There had to be a better solution, but Adora’s brain had gone foggy hours ago. Her eyes were pinpricks of pain, sleep beckoning whenever she blinked. It was annoying; no way she was falling for that trap again.

The last time she slept, Catra almost didn’t wake up.

So, Adora pinched herself again, ignoring the reddening marks on her arm.

Catra scowled. “Would you cut that out?”

The words went in one ear, out the other. It felt like Adora was running in circles, stringing ideas along until they tangled into a ball of frustration that yanked at her soul. There _had _to be a solution.

“I don’t understand. Why can’t I heal you? I healed the sea-gate. I fixed the Moonstone! She-Ra should be able to fix you too, but _nooo_.”

Adora grumbled, scribbling a big X over option 3.

“Adora.”

“And it’s not like we can just call Glimmer’s aunt and be like, _hey_, Hordak’s second is dying in my bedroom—can you do us a favor and whip up a spell to cure her magical sickness?” With a growl, Adora crossed out option 1.

Catra huffed. “Adora.”

“But that just leaves Light Hope, and we _know _how helpful she is with this stuff. The last time we were in there—” Adora cut herself off, narrowing her eyes at the paper. “That’s a no.” She Xed out the final option… and stared in misery at the list.

Back at square one.

_Again_.

“Maybe She-Ra would work this time.”

Catra shoved to her feet, wobbling dangerously as she stomped to Adora. Her tail swayed for balance, but she didn’t seem to have a problem glowering, or grabbing Adora’s jacket again. “_Adora_, for the love of your stupid, flying horse, _stop it_.”

Adora glanced up at her, flinching at Catra’s seething glare.

“Nothing will fix it. The last time you tried She-Ra, you wound up with a head injury and the Whispering Woods was down a tree. What makes you think a second try will turn out differently?”

“Maybe I just didn’t do it right.”

Catra laughed, cruelly. “Of course you didn’t do it right. You don’t know what you’re doing as She-Ra.”

Her harsh words were like a dagger, stabbing and painful. Tears pricked Adora’s burning eyes. Sad thing was, Catra was right. Even after Glimmer’s broken powers, even after all her training with Light Hope, even after the sheer desperation she shoved into the sword last night, Catra was still sick.

And there was nothing Adora could do about it.

Desperation filtered into her voice. “We have to try something, Catra!”

“Why?” Catra’s face had paled from the exertion of standing, and she finally released Adora’s jacket to sink to the floor beside the cot. Her fingers brushed over the bloodstains in the mattress, _her _blood, and Adora’s heart ached. “Shadow Weaver thought of everything. She always does. The only cure is in the Fright Zone, so stop—” her voice broke, and she clenched her eyes shut. “Stop wasting your time. Go get some sleep.”

Adora shoved her ridiculous list away, pushed out of her desk chair to sink beside Catra. For a moment, sitting shoulder to shoulder, it felt like old times. Best friends, reunited against a common enemy. But from this proximity, Adora could feel the heat of Catra’s returning fever, see the flush of her cheeks, hear the rasping that never really left her shallow breaths.

“Helping you is never wasting my time,” Adora whispered.

Catra stiffened. “Don’t. Don’t you dare pull that heroic crap on me. You’re the reason I’m in this mess in the first place.” She shoved back to her feet, gripping the mattress to steady herself.

“What? How is this _my_ fault?”

Catra whirled on her, and her raw expression made Adora wish she’d never asked.

“Because _you left_, Adora! You went to your pretty castle with your nice rebels and your fancy sword, and everything back home shattered, and guess who was left picking up the pieces?” Catra pressed her palms into her eyes. “And even after I rebuilt your mess into something better, somehow everyone is still waiting for _you_!”

Adora’s tears fell freely now, streaking down her cheeks.

She might call Bright Moon home now, but sometimes it felt like she’d never stop running from the Horde’s darkness.

“Shadow Weaver is after you.” Catra’s expression could annihilate armies. Poison kings. Destroy planets. Her voice, however, was too quiet, the fierce hiss of a snake about to strike. “She’s killing me to get you back in the Fright Zone. So no, nothing you try will work. The only thing that’ll save my life is handing She-Ra over on a silver platter. And we both know you’re too selfish for that.”

Adora stiffened.

But she didn’t protest it.

Because as much as she wanted to save Catra, she couldn’t just hand herself over to the Horde. The Rebellion depended on her now. The people they protected depended on She-Ra.

It wasn’t _about _what Adora wanted anymore.

Catra smiled, treacherously slow, and a sick feeling spread in Adora’s gut. Like in her silence, she’d confirmed everything Catra thought to be true.

“There, see? Now we’re finally on the same page.”

And Catra wrenched open the hallway door and stalked out of sight, gone before Adora could stop her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAHHHHH SORRY I WAS GONE FOREVER. 
> 
> I have no excuse except that I was editing a book and working and drawing and living life, and it's been great. :3 MUCH THANKS to all you awesome reviewers; I cherish every kudos and bookmark, but reviews really make me feel like people are waiting for my stories! 
> 
> And A HUUUUGE THANKS + GLOMP to the reviewers who have followed me from Spider-Man (BUMBLEBEA) and--gasp--Camp Camp (SYD AND SKATER). You guys seriously make my day every time. I am so so SO flattered. <3 
> 
> Hoping the next chapter won't take AN ETERNIA. (Ha. See what I did there?)
> 
> If you guys like my writing, check out my [Ko-fi ](https://ko-fi.com/wicked42) and consider giving me a cuppa joe. :D LOVE YOU ALL!


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